


A Girl Named Dick

by bell (bellaboo), bellaboo, usomitai (bellaboo)



Series: When He was a Girl AU [4]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Kid Fic, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-22
Updated: 2008-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:16:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellaboo/pseuds/bell, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellaboo/pseuds/bellaboo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellaboo/pseuds/usomitai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard, House and Wilson's daughter, grows up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Girl Named Dick

**Author's Note:**

> Briar_pipe, Anna, Riko, Sarah G, and Jougetsu betaed for me. What would I do without them?

“Aren’t you still scared of passing on, how did you put it, your pathos?”

“Eh, if things go as they’re supposed to, she’ll be just as loony as the rest of us. She’ll think we did her a favor, bringing her into this world. It’s how it is.”




**Year Four**

The first memory Richard attached any importance to was being with House in one of his rare good moods. She shrieked with laughter as he made silly impressions of cows, dogs, parrots.

Only then he took more of those pills and he got _too_ silly and she was scared because he suddenly fell asleep, in the middle of the floor, and nothing she did could wake him up. Wilson came back home shortly afterwards and though he sent Richard to her room, she could still hear House being made to vomit in the bathroom.

Later there was yelling. That was nothing new; they were always fighting. The difference was that this time Wilson made Richard pack her favorite things to spend weeks at Aunt Lisa’s, together with her baby that chewed on all of Richard’s toys.

Richard and Wilson moved into a new apartment. She ran around it to learn its geography and after her fifth run-through, she realized that a vital item was missing. Where was the piano? And that’s when Wilson explained that the piano and House were going to live in another place, but that she could go see him any time she wanted.

And Richard did get to stay with House sometimes. He was usually grumpy, but she was used to that, and most of the time he was able to play with her or tinker with the piano. “So, Dick, whatcha hankering for?” House would ask, winking. They might plunk at the keys, making a terrific noise, or he might play beautiful tune after beautiful tune.

When he _was_ in a bad mood-- well, Richard knew how to lay low.

But really, her actual first memories are of being in hospitals, with tubes, nurses offering her lollipops, and other kids with better and worse problems than her own. She doesn’t remember this period very well. She prefers it that way.

*

Wilson worked long hours but even if he came late, he always made it in time to read Richard stories. He would tuck her into bed and turn off all the lights except for the lamp-- she loved how the lamp threw long, skinny shadows about all the walls-- and ask her, “What’ll read tonight, Richie?”

She liked the books with fairy tales best: they had such beautiful pictures and she felt at ease, listening to the voices Wilson did for them; they were so familiar and comforting. “Cinderella,” she would say, or, “Snow White,” and she’d curl her toes in anticipation as he picked the chosen volume from the shelf.

Richard often fell asleep to the sound of his rhythmic, gentle reading, but sometimes she was awake for the goodnight kiss he gave on her forehead.

**Year Five**:

Until she went to school, she was “Richard” or “Richie” to almost everyone. House called her “Dick,” though, and it felt like a special title, one only her dad had the right to. It didn’t feel so special when one of the boys in her class pointed at her and yelled “Dick!” And giggled. In fact, it sounded downright insulting.

“You take that back!” she screamed and punched him square on the nose. The teacher said that as punishment she had to go home early and dad-- Wilson-- came to pick her up. Richard still felt that she’d been right, but she hated how disappointed he looked.

*

From the get-go, school was hard. It took her longer to learn the rules, to learn to add and subtract, and to read words like “who” and “owl.” She was often in tears by the time Wilson came to pick her up, but he would hug her and tell her to take her time. That she’d get there. And she would sniffle and say “okay,” but really, it wasn’t okay.

*

“A dog,” she begged. Mark from kindergarten always boasted about his dog, and she’d seen them on TV. She was dying to have one of her own, with long ears and a huge tail that stuck up at the back. A white and brown one, maybe. Or black.

“We wouldn’t be able to take care of it,” Wilson apologized and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m at work all the time--“

“Or a cat?” She’d heard on TV that cats were easier to take care of because they were more independent. She didn’t know if that was true. House was independent and Wilson was always complaining about how much trouble he was. Wilson shook his head.

But House got a rat, which scared Richard at first, but within ten minutes she was tentatively petting him and then wouldn’t let go of him for the rest of the day. They named him Keith Richards and experimented with what he would and wouldn’t eat.

**Year Six**:

One of her favorite memories goes like this:

“Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, I made you out of clay--“

“I can’t believe you found something more annoying than yourself,” Wilson told House. Richard, for her part, spun the dreidel again, setting the song off again. But it didn’t get past the first line before falling over once more, stopping the tune. She tried again, only to get the same result.

“Here, like this,” Wilson said and gave the dreidel a mighty spin. Entranced, Richard watched it spin about the table, back and forth, as it played the song.

“They teach you that at Jew school?” House asked.

“We didn’t have much else to learn,” Wilson replied, and Richard could tell it was one of those times when he said something he didn’t mean. He didn’t do that a lot with her, but he did it all the time with House.

Later, way after they lit one of the candles, went though all the songs and prayers, minus the dreidel one, and Wilson gave her a goodnight kiss, Richard snuck out of her room and caught a glimpse of House and Wilson hugging each other, their heads on each other’s shoulders. She knew she wasn’t meant to see that, but she was glad she did.

*

The mother of one of her classmates had once been House’s patient, and, upon learning who Richard was, the mother told her, “Your father saved my life.” The mother made a face as she said this, like she’d eaten something spoiled.

It wasn’t the first time Richard heard that. It was usually followed by, “He’s a genius.”

She wanted to be a doctor, just like him.

*

Every week, on Sunday afternoon, Wilson removed the nail polish from his toenails and applied a new color. He usually applied colors like his skin-- tan, brown, more brown, peach-- but sometimes, like when House was coming over, he’d use a striking red.

Richard learned the hard way, namely, other people’s ridicule, that this was not normal for a father. She asked him why he did it. “So that I remember.” He looked kind of sad.

She too was always forgetting things, so one day she took Wilson’s nail polish and tried it for herself. It didn’t help her any in school, though.

 

**Year Seven**

Richard was spending the weekend at House’s. He was tired, so she behaved and drew while he watched TV. She was coloring in a duck when she realized that House’s eyes were the same color as her yellow crayon.

She laughed and pointed at him, thinking it was another one of his jokes, but his face paled. “We’re going to the hospital,” House said firmly.

“Why? I’m not sick!” She wasn’t. She didn’t want any more of those tubes up her arms and nose, especially if she wasn’t sick.

But he wouldn’t listen to her protests. When they got there, he punted her off to the people who worked for him. Volakis ignored her, like she usually did, Kutner played a few games of tic-tac-toe with her (she won them all), and Cameron kept saying, “you poor thing.” Richard thought it was because she had to be at the hospital when she _wasn’t_ sick. At least there were no tubes.

House was dead a day later.

Acute liver failure, they said.

Richard repeated those syllables over and over, until she had them memorized, though they meant nothing to her.

*

They took in Keith Richards though, like its former owner, it died shortly afterwards. With that, Richard started to leave a bowl, filled with leftovers from the fridge, outside, and watched the animals that came by: dogs, cats, birds, and, one memorable time, a skunk.

**Year Nine**

Richard avoided the hospital as much as possible, but then she realized that if doctors worked there, she couldn’t fear it. She asked Wilson to let her hang out in his office after school-- she thought she’d have to beg and make promises about reading quietly in a corner. But he smiled and hugged her; called her his “doctor in the making.” Richard glowed quietly.

When Wilson was in his office, they stayed together, he going through ever-replenishing piles of paperwork and she going through her homework. If she didn’t get something, which was often enough, he’d patiently explain, however many times it took, about the minute-men or how to work out fractions.

When he was working outside of his office, Richard would slip out and roam about the corridors. Sometimes someone recognized her and said, “Oh my _God_, you’re House’s kid.” She didn’t get why they sounded so scared, or why they were in such a rush to get away from her, like she was a bomb about to go off.

Other people said, “Oh, you’re Wilson’s kid!” And they made her go back to her dad’s office.

Volakis got a category of her own. The first few times she’d found Richard wandering about the hospital halls, she’d made her head back to Wilson’s office. But then, out of the blue, she started to greet Richard with a warm smile and would take a few minutes to teach her something, like how to read an X-Ray or how wrap a cut.

Richard liked the lessons and asked tons of questions, but she was still suspicious. Volakis wanted something.

 

*

“Where did I come from?”

Wilson took a deep sigh; Richard had been expecting that. “I assume you already know about sex.”

“Duh-- more like, am I your kid? House’s? Who’s my mom?”

“About that--“

At least it explained the nail polish.

 

**Year Ten**

It didn’t occur to Richard that her dad might be lonely until he sat her down one evening and said, with a fake sort of calm, “Richie, I’m getting married.”

“Oh,” and she tuned out whatever he said next about his wife-to-be.

But she couldn’t put off knowing about her forever, and one day Wilson came home with Volakis, their arms linked. “You already know each other, of course.” He grinned, but it was out of nervousness. The side of his mouth kept twitching.

Volakis was more confident. She kneeled in front of Richard, sweeping her rich blonde hair behind her shoulder. “I know this is a shock, and it’s going to be a _huge_ change, but we’ll get through it together, right?”

Richard suddenly hated her. “Sure, Cut-Throat Bitch.”

Her eyes widened, and Wilson looked so upset that Richard half-regretted saying it.

From her bedroom, Richard heard Wilson apologizing to Volakis. “It’s all right, James,” and that was just weird. _No_ one called him ‘James.’ “It can’t be easy for her.”

Though she strained to hear, she couldn’t make out Wilson’s reply.

*

The next day, Volakis came into Richard’s room and sat on her bed, crossing her legs. Richard wanted to shove her off. Instead, she glared stonily from the other side of the room, her arms crossed. “Look,” Volakis started, leaning her elbows on her knees. “I know you don’t like me.”

Richard almost nodded, but she stopped herself just in time. Volakis might tattle on her to Wilson. “And that’s okay. You don’t have to. No one’s asking you to.” Richard uncrossed her arms slowly. “But here’s the thing. Your dad _does_ like me. He likes me a lot.” Richard bit her lip. “And you don’t want to make him give up someone he likes, right?”

Richard looked down at the floor.

“All I’m asking is that we can be civil with each other, so your dad can be happy. Can you do that?” Volakis asked. There was a long pause and Richard knew it was up to her. Finally, she nodded, her head down so that her hair covered her face. “Good. I’m glad we could reach an agreement.”

The bed creaked as Volakis got up and Richard hated her more than ever, but she swallowed her pride.

*

That same day, Wilson too went into Richard’s bedroom, face long but calm. He sat on her desk chair and she took the bed. “Richie,” he said, and then, thinking better of it, brought the chair so that they were facing each other directly. “Richie, if you don’t want me to get married, I won’t.”

She stared at him. That wasn’t fair, putting the weight on her. “But-- that’s not up to me!”

He put a hand on her knee. “It’s up to the both of us.”

Richard bit her lip. She didn’t want to agree to the marriage; it was a betrayal. But she couldn’t forget what Volakis had said about Wilson being happy. “Do you really want to marry her?”

Wilson studied Richard for a moment. “Yes.”

“Like, _really_ want to marry her? Really really?”

“Really really.” By now Richard was on the verge of tears and actually started to cry when Wilson got up and hugged her awkwardly. “But I won’t do it if it’ll upset you, Richie.”

Wilson and Volakis registered their marriage a month later at the town hall. There was no ceremony, just Richard holding on to her wet umbrella while they waited for the paperwork to be done.

**Year Eleven**

They fell into a routine. After dinner, which Wilson insisted they eat together, Richard would watch TV. Sometimes Wilson and Volakis would watch with her, or they would stay in the living room and read the newspaper, or the three of them would talk about this or that. It wasn’t so bad. And even if Richard hated seeing Volakis and Wilson leaning against each other, seeing her dad so tranquil made up for it.

 

**Year Twelve**

Richard found a guide to getting into colleges and it made her realize that she had to do _much_ better in school, if she were to be a doctor.

They hired a tutor, but she didn’t help Richard much, so they got another one, who didn’t do much better. They went through tutor after tutor and, after a while, Richard got the sinking sensation that the problem was her.

*

”They say you’re-- not fitting in at school,” Wilson commented when he came back from a parent-teacher conference.

Richard shrugged. “Nelson called me stupid.” Which was true, but he’d also said that her dad was a fag. Whatever that meant. “He had it coming.”

“How about all the _other_ kids you hit?”

“They laughed.”

Wilson sighed and hugged her, tighter than he usually did. “Couldn’t you be a little _less_ like your father?”

But she felt a fierce surge of pride at that.

**Year Thirteen**

Richard couldn’t remember how the argument started, but that wasn’t what mattered.

“You’re worse than House!” Volakis snapped. “Callous and vindictive--“

Richard stared at her, jaw dropped open; Wilson exclaimed, “Amber!”

Volakis clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry--“

“Callous and vindictive?” Richard asked, feeling oddly distant from everything. “What do you mean?” She’d studied those words. She didn’t remember what they meant exactly, but she knew that they weren’t good.

“Nothing,” Wilson had said, brushing his fingers through Richard’s hair. He only did that when he wanted her to feel better. That meant there was a _reason_ to comfort her. “Amber apologized; she didn’t mean it.”

But Richard knew Volakis meant every bit of it, and later that night she looked up the words in the dictionary. They really were no good.

Richard started to look into House’s past. The more she read, the more the comments she’d heard about him, her whole life, made a terrible sort of sense.

She’d worked hard all these years in school, making up what she lacked in intelligence with sheer effort, so she could be a brilliant doctor, just like her dad. But all her effort had been so she could be like _that_?

No more.

Richard gave up.

No more homework or studying; she just spent hours walking around the city. She went alone, since she had no one to go with.

Eventually her teachers called Wilson and, after a long telephone conversation, Wilson sat down with Richard, tired and worried. “There’s no future in being a middle-school drop-out. How will you become a doctor, at this rate?”

She shrugged. “Not like I have what it takes, anyway.”

**Year Sixteen**

She went to one of those huge parties that everyone is supposed to go to, but she didn’t know anyone, so she drank in a corner, plastic cup after plastic cup of beer, watching other people.

She was feeling miserable and light-headed and kind of sick when she saw someone she knew: Aunt Lisa’s baby kid. Though obviously she wasn’t such a baby kid anymore.

Richard tried to hide, but her coordination was off, and instead of discreetly going into another room, she knocked over a lamp. People cheered and hooted clapped, and Richard swore to never go to another one of those parties again, especially since Lisa’s kid, what was her name, Anju, maybe?, was coming towards her.

“Oh my god, Richard, is that you?” she asked, and up close, with long dark hair to the small of her back and a snug t-shirt that flattered all her beginning curves, Richard wondered if she was putting her mouth to better uses than chewing on toys.

They went out to the porch, where the cool night air cleared Richard’s head, and Anju chattered on about the last time she’d seen Wilson, how big the high school on her side of the city was, and how forward she was looking to taking biology and chemistry. Richard nodded shyly in places, occasionally adding single-syllable words. She wanted to say more, but couldn’t think of anything. By the time Richard started her walk back home, she hadn’t said anything more elaborate than, “Really?”

**Year Seventeen**

The beginning of sophomore year, Richard gave résumés to every shop and company in town. If she were to live alone, after graduating, she’d need the money. She got a job attending the register at a gas-station convenience store. It hurt to stay on her feet all those hours and it was even more boring than school, but it was worth it, to see the dollars add up in her savings account. It felt like independence.

She wasn’t going to be a loser just because she was dumb. She’d make it on her own, without anyone’s help.

**Year Nineteen**

Richard graduated from high school. Barely, but she graduated. Wilson and Volakis came to the ceremony, and he looked almost proud. It embarrassed her that he’d be glad, given her measly Cs and Ds. She almost regretted giving up on the studying, seeing how happy he was with so little.

Volakis said something about being on call, but Richard knew better; she wanted to leave her and Wilson alone. They were walking back home together, silent, when Wilson suddenly said, “I wanted to get you a graduation present.”

Richard thought of the possibilities. “What, a car?”

He smirked. “Something reliable, like a Volvo. Even if you’d have called it lame.”

“That _is_ lame,” she teased. Richard had no car. She’d put everything she’d earned from the gas-station, and the Gap store after that, and then Wal-Mart, towards living on her own.

“But I knew--“ His hands were in his pockets, and he was looking straight up at the sky. “You wouldn’t accept it. So I didn’t get you anything.”

Tears sprang to Richard’s eyes. For all that she wanted to do things on her own, no matter what the cost, it still touched her that Wilson would understand. “Thank you.”

“You’re going to be moving out, aren’t you.”

Richard nodded. “At the end of the month,” she managed to say. She almost added “sorry” at the end.

Wilson took a deep breath and put his arm around her shoulders. “And yet another one leaves the nest. But if you ever need anything--“

“I know,” she said, and wrapped her arm around his back. Now that she was leaving, she could afford the luxury of affection.

*

As promised, she moved into an apartment with two other sloppy, loud girls. Richard didn’t mind them much, because if she wasn’t working at Wal-Mart, then she was putting in hours at a local Italian restaurant. She liked to keep busy but she didn’t have anything to do, so she poured herself into work.

Wilson called her every month or so, to tell her “the latest,” but she knew he what he really wanted was to make sure she was fine and well, and would call more often if it wouldn’t irritate her. She appreciated the distance.

**Year Twenty**

Her roommates only got louder and sloppier and, after one party too many, Richard moved out into the first place she found. Her new roommate, tiny and with pasty-white skin, seemed to take up less space than her giant mass of wavy hair. Her eyes were droopy and Richard wondered if she’d capable of feeling anything beyond “mild.”

But she didn’t talk much, and, after so much noise, that was exactly what Richard wanted.

The morning after she moved in, Richard found her new roommate, Sarah, leaning out the kitchen window. Squinting, she saw pale tendrils of smoke streaming through sunlight. “Morning,” Sarah said, holding out the joint to her.

Richard coughed on the first drag, but the second one went down easily.

*

They started to spend their evenings in their cramped living room, drinking or smoking up or both. Either they watched TV, their crossed legs bumping knees on the couch, or they leafed through the fashion magazines Sarah brought in, mocking the fashion and advice columns. Sometimes, Richard laughed so hard her sides hurt. She hadn’t known that could actually _happen_; she’d thought it was just another one of those meaningless expressions.

When one evening, after more beers than Richard could keep track of, Sarah’s mouth ends up on her throat, it seemed like the natural progression of things. In Richard’s eagerness to get Sarah’s shirt off, they fell off the couch and on to the floor. Her whole chest felt Sarah’s giggles.

Richard fell asleep on the floor with Sarah hugging her, the rough carpet rubbing against her cheek and other exposed body parts.

 

**Year Twenty-One**

Richard didn’t think of herself as an addict. She just happened to smoke pot from time to time, that was all. Nothing serious. She liked how it made her float, as if nothing in life were difficult.

She learned the hard way not to make her smoking public: she got fired from Wal-Mart for coming in stoned. Jobs were hard to come by and her hours at the Italian restaurant weren’t enough to pay her half of the rent at the end of the month. “I’ll get a new job soon,” she promised Sarah.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sarah said, pulling out the pre-packaged pea soup she microwaved for them both. “I’m sure you’ll find something.”

*

“So how are things going?” Wilson asked. “Work going okay? How’s your new apartment? Are you eating properly?”

He’d been antsy like that, in their more recent phone conversations. Richard figured it was because she hadn’t gone in to see them since she moved out two years ago. It wasn’t the distance. They lived in the same city. She just wasn’t ready to go back yet.

“Things are fine, work is okay, my apartment is small but I like my roommate, and yes I’m eating properly,” Richard recited dutifully. She didn’t mention details like having been fired for being stoned, living off what Sarah made at Starbucks, and how they didn’t even have pans for cooking. Richard had her pride.

*

Five weeks into her job search, Richard found a “Help Wanted” sign on a window. She ran in so fast, she barely glanced at the store’s name. A bell, affixed to the top of the door, rang as she entered.

Inside, the smell of wet dog and cat food overwhelmed her. She paused to take it all in.

The store was set in a traditional New England house, with creaking floor boards and peeling paint. Cages of all sizes and kinds were spread throughout, and birds chirped as she passed by. Richard chirped back at them.

“Good morning,” a forty year-old or so woman greeted her. Her black roots, about an inch long, were showing at the top of her head, and her brown apron bore numerous paw prints--- some drawn, some real. She smiled kindly. “Looking for a pet?”

“Uh, no,” Richard said, straightening her shoulders and blowing her hair out of her face. “You have a ‘Help Wanted’ sign outside the door, and I need a job, so--“

“Oh--“ the woman wiped her hands on her apron before offering it. “I’m Jude, and you are…?”

Richard wanted this job. She wanted this job more than _anything_.

Nervous, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Dick.” It came out before she could stop it: _Dick_. Horrified, she almost apologized, but Jude didn’t seem offended. If anything, she looked intrigued.

She decided to stay on that track. “My dad-- one of them-- thought he was funny.”

Jude laughed. “Nice. Now, tell me, do you have any experience working with animals?”

*

Dick had no experience, unless you counted fish-watching during her breaks at Wal-Mart, which Jude didn’t, but she gave her a chance. “It’s not a hard job,” she said. “You’ve just got to like animals, have some patience, and be okay with getting a _smidgeon_ dirty.”

Dick started by working the register and moved up to working with the animals themselves. Richard loved every minute of it. She loved walking the dogs, who sometimes ran with so much energy they nearly dislocated her shoulder. She loved feeding the parrots, who nipped at her hands when she went to talk to them. She loved how the cats yowled when feeding time was nigh. She loved the smells, the noises, the company. She loved _everything_.

One day, Jude went out for a quick errand, and of course that was when one of the beagles, Molly, accidentally knocked over a glass container and cut herself on the shards. Blood was everywhere and Molly kept yelping, but Dick knew exactly what to do. She _had_, after all, learned a thing or two in all those years she’d tried to follow her fathers’ footsteps.

She was finishing up bandaging Molly when Jude returned. “What happened?!” Jude exclaimed, falling to her knees and checking Molly’s covered cuts.

“A small accident,” Dick said. “I think she’ll be okay. See? She’s not crying anymore.”

“You’re right,” Jude said, patting Molly, who licked her nose. “Hey, you’re good at this, did you know that?”

“It was nothing,” but Dick spent the rest of the day on cloud nine.

*

The next week was Thanksgiving.

“Hey, you got plans for Turkey Day?” Richard yelled at the kitchen.

Sarah peeked out from the door way. “Not really. Why?”

“How about we go to my parents’?”

Richard was worried that Sarah wouldn’t want to, since it wasn’t like they were officially together or anything, but she said, without fuss, “Okay.”

Richard didn’t bother to warn her parents; she just showed up on the day. Knowing Volakis, they had probably arranged a huge dinner for friends and the influential people she could con into coming. And Richard wasn’t wrong. She could smell the roast and hear the conversations as they walked up to the entrance.

Richard squeezed Sarah’s hand. “Let’s do this.”

Her dad grinned from ear to ear and swept Richard up in a huge hug. She was going to hug him back, but then he quickly pulled back, apologizing. “You vanished--“ When he saw Sarah, he lit up again. “Oh, who are you? A friend? Or maybe you’re Richie’s roommate, Sarah? It’s good to meet you, please, make yourself a home.”

He shook Sarah’s hand so hard Richard thought he’d snap her arm off. She would’ve died of embarrassment, but she’d been expecting this. “It’s because I’ve never bought anyone home before,” Richard whispered to her, and Sarah smiled shyly.

Volakis hugged Richard too, without the apology. “We were starting to think you were a figment of our imagination!” she scolded.

Aunt Lisa was there too, together with Anju. Richard almost went up to say hi, but then she noticed that Anju had linked her arms with a somewhat cute guy. Richard sought Sarah’s hand again, and held it until it was time to sit at the table.

It was a typical Thanksgiving. Richard and Volakis had a small spat over what plate set to use, Wilson rubbed his temples, the cranberry sauce burned, and those not in the family discreetly cringed during these highlights.

But the evening passed and the sink filled up with dishes, like it did after every dinner-party.

Sarah, the only guest left, was in the living room with Volakis talking about _god_ knew what. Richard was going to have to grill Sarah for details later. As for Richard, she sat on the kitchen sink, kicking her legs into the air as Wilson loaded the dish washer.

Watching him, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his brown spectacles close to slipping off his nose, and his graying bangs falling into his eyes, Richard realized that he was aging. She didn’t know what to make of that. Her dad was meant to be her life-long pain and support. He wasn’t meant to _change_.

She turned back to the past. “What was House like?”

He looked up at her, surprised, brushing the hair out of his eyes. Soap suds ended up on his forehead. “That’s sudden.”

“I’ve been wondering.” She kicked into the air again, higher. “I don’t really remember him.”

“Well--“ Wilson started, leaning with his back against the sink, his palms holding on to the edge. “He was _the_ most infuriating person I ever met. He could drive me crazy with _one_ look.” Wilson’s gaze became distant. “He was annoying, reckless, petty-- a walking liability for us all.”

Richard stilled her legs. This wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear. She’d figured all that out, but it still wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear.

“And I loved him,” Wilson concluded, loading the dishes again. “Still do.”

“What? I don’t get that.”

“You’re telling _me_?” He closed the washing machine the door and dried his hand with a towel. The machine whirred into action, and Richard felt its vibrations through the sink. “But he was a good man, Richie, and there’s not been one day I haven’t wished he was still with us.”

“Me too,” Richard whispered. “I miss him _so_ much.”

Both lowered their heads and for a terrible second Richard thought they were going to cry. But Wilson exhaled and the moment passed. “How about Sarah? She seems like a sweet girl.”

Richard wondered if he’d think that if he knew about the pot. “She’s okay.” Richard didn’t know where things were headed with her, if it was a fling or if there was more, but things were okay between them and that was enough for her.

“Well, bring her here any time you want,” Wilson said. “Preferably _before_ over two years pass.” Richard poked her tongue out at him. She recognized the rebuke for what it was. “And what _were_ you up to, in all that time? Discovering the secrets of life?”

What had she been up to? Nothing and everything. “I bandaged this dog at work--“

Wilson raised his eyebrows and Richard realized that she’d missed that expression. “They sell dogs now at Wal-Mart?”

“No, I-- I changed jobs. I work at a pet store now.”

“Yeah?” Wilson pulled out one of the spindly chairs from the kitchen table and sat facing her.

“It’s really cool,” she said, and before he could press for more information, “So, hey, you still wear that nail polish or what?”


End file.
